


Débris

by Joel7th



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joel7th/pseuds/Joel7th
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis knew Nicolas de Lenfent, or rather knew him from Lestat’s words. He also knew Nicolas had been Lestat’s first and greatest regret.</p><p>Cleansed from this earth by the fire, now his ghost had come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partition

> _And now his life slips through my hands._
> 
> _His gentle soul leaves on the wind._
> 
> _A broken angel finds release_
> 
> _From all my selfish dreams the darkness brings._
> 
> _So what do I do now?_
> 
> _He’s gone. I’m left alone and so unsure._
> 
> _Guide me now and give me tears to cry_
> 
> _When all I loved died right before my eyes._
> 
> **Right Before My Eyes (Reprise) – Lestat the Musical**
> 
>  

———-***———-

One of the few things Louis loved was cleaning up. Because while cleaning up, he was bound to discover things – interesting things – things which were unfortunately buried beneath the dust of time, things which could bring back fondling memories or unearth a fragment of the past.

It was an old worn violin case he found while rummaging through the dusty junks in the attic of their home. Thrilled as if he had dug up a long-lost treasure, Louis pried open the lid, gingerly, carefully, so that his vampiric strength would not destroy the delicate thing.

Even better than a treasure. Louis’s eyes lit up at the sight of stained yellow papers on which words and notes were scribbled, the handwriting too familiar for him to mistake with anyone’s. Lestat’s music sheets of the short time he’d spent with  _The Vampire Lestat_ band back in the 8o’s.

Sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor, Louis lost track of time in the nostalgia. Unknown to his immortal lover, Louis had listened to his songs countless times – the music videos on his tiny TV screen, recorded on the video tapes so that he could have them played over and over again, surrounding himself with Lestat’s voice while he laid clutching  _The Vampire Lestat_ to his chest. Even without the music sheets he was still able to sing all of them. The reason he never sang in front of Lestat was because his voice, he admitted, wasn’t half as good as his lover’s.

Softly he sang, song after song, each sheet smoothed and placed neatly to one side. He giggled to the lyrics Lestat had written about Gabrielle. “My daughter” he had addressed her, his mortal mother and very first fledging. That’d make Louis what, his son? Now that was just wacky, the incestuous undertone of their relationship. They were, after all,  _blood-related_ , weren’t they?

When he got to the song Lestat had written for him, for their struggling and stormy romance spanning for centuries, his cheeks colored a lovely shade of pink. Some of the expressions were rather explicit, even to today’s standard. He remembered this had been notoriously dubbed one of the most controversial songs of the twentieth century, causing a great ruckus amongst music critics then. The music was electric, as expected from the Vampire Lestat, but the homoeroticism was blatant and thus frowned upon by many. Too much homophobia it seemed.

Still, “deprived from delight as I thirst for you”, those were Louis’s gems. Anyone who wanted to argue could do it with Lucifer for all he cared.

He was pretty sure he had gone over all Lestat’s songs but then, there was a crumpled music sheet – the last piece – he had never heard before. Frowning just a little, he held it to the light for better examination, a mortal’s habit. It was distinguished from its brothers; it was older, as the color suggested, with dark blotches scattering here and there, sometimes obscuring the notes. Rather than a song, it was a piece written for an instrument since there was no lyric. Drawing a link to the old case, Louis assumed it was for the violin. And the handwriting, bold and elegant as it weaved the title ‘Fragments’, was certainly not Lestat’s.

Who had written it? Why had it been here, hidden in the old violin case like something forgotten, something not supposed to see the light? Who was its composer to Lestat?

Louis briefly recalled the musician, the poor unfortunate soul that had probably perished in the Hell’s fire at Rue Royale that fateful night. But if his memory served, that young man had mainly played the piano. Besides, from a few stealing glances at the sheets Lestat’d brought home, Louis could tell the young man’s handwriting was starkly different from the one on this sheet.

Curiosity kills the cat, perhaps a vampire too. Before his instinct raised its voice against his prying into Lestat’s past, he had had in his hand a violin – taken from the shop across the street, a thick wad of dollar bills left anonymously on the counter. Louis had had music lessons in the past and it took him only a short while to rejuvenate the flow, with a little help from his preternatural skills.

Closing his eyes, he let himself to the hypnotizing music brought to life by the violin.

_(Cont)_


	2. Perplexité

Louis hardly had the time to wipe away his blood tears, streaming down his cheeks to stain his white linen shirt when the door burst open.

Rage was seething from his lover like wild fire, a tornado of scorching heat sweeping in the small attic and vacuuming all the air on its trail. Louis was stunned, his tears forgotten in place of the new confusion battling with the former immense melancholy.

The violin burst into flame as soon as he set it down. Louis stared at the miniature inferno in front of him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Never play it again!” Lestat all but growled at him. Baring his fangs, his handsome features contorted in a way Louis had never witnessed before. For a brief moment he was genuine convinced that Lestat would launch at him and drink him dry. His blood curled in his veins.

Such Lestat didn’t do. In fact, he barely touched Louis’s fingers when he snatched the music sheet from his motionless hand.

He stomped out to the street, uttering not one word. For once he couldn’t care less about vampire grace, his footsteps thundering on the stairs as loudly as Louis’s heartbeats.

Louis went to their shared coffin perplexed and alone that night. He woke up the following night with a cold emptiness by his side, mirroring its twin in his heart.

So did him the night after.

_(Cont)_


	3. Attente

Louis wasn’t an early riser – not one earlier than Lestat – and there was simply no alarm clock for a vampire’s death sleep. Yet stay late he could, forcing himself to, deliberately and dangerously denying himself the solace of the coffin while dawn crept nearer and near. He felt half-dead by the time footsteps echoed in the hallway.

“Why haven’t you slept?” Lestat asked, staring at Louis with incredulity.

“Waiting,” Louis all but slurred. The temptation to just roll off the couch and sleep right on the floor was too strong, too alluring. He felt Lestat’s arms around him before he made contact with the rug.

“Still mad at me?” Like a drunkard he asked.

“I wasn’t angry with you, really,” came Lestat’s quiet reply. He lifted Louis off with ease, as though the other vampire weighted no more than a child. And Louis clung onto his lover’s shirt like one as he was being carried to their coffin. He did not let go even after Lestat had lain down beside him, enveloping him in the welcoming warmth of his earlier kills.

“You did burn the violin…”

“The sound and sight of it irritated me…”

“… and I with it,” Louis cut him.

“Silly.”

Lestat’s soft laughter was lost to Louis.

_(Cont)_


	4. Le Violoniste

The thought of stalking had never occurred to Louis. Not in his waking time. Not in his dream. Not in his wildest imagination.

Similarly, the thought of Louis stalking someone had never occurred to Marius either.  Not in his waking time. Not in his dream. Not in his wildest imagination.

Such was the reason for the ancient vampire’s shocked expression when the request came knocking at his door in the form of silky black hair, downcast green eyes and blushes on white cheeks.

Oh Louis, sweet Louis, how devastating the effect the Brat Prince has had on you.

He obliged the young vampire nonetheless.

It was a small retro bar at Centertown he found Lestat, sitting in the darkest corner, his Martini untouched. Quietly Louis slid in, doing his best to not announce his arrival to his lover. Lestat didn’t notice his presence either, already lost in his thought as his iridescent eyes seemed to see nothing but the stage.

Securing himself a seat not far from Lestat’s, Louis ordered a Bloody Mary, his least favorite in the world since he had been able to taste it, so that he wouldn’t feel too sorry if he did not touch it.

The stage was a soft pinkish glow in the dim setting of the bar, whose center light focused on a musician, entranced by his own music from the violin. He was much young, traces of childhood still vivid despite his stiff white shirt, black tie and charcoal waistcoat. More a boy in a man’s attire than an actual man, Louis thought. He was beautiful too; like the stage, his beauty glowed in the dark.

And what music he was playing! It wasn’t delightful, not in the least. It wasn’t the kind of  music meant to bring peace and joy to its listeners, or to entertain them, to help them relax after a hard day’s work; it was meant to be the opposite! Like a blade it invaded the senses of its listeners, penetrating mercilessly until it found the deepest, softest core of the soul, and trampled it. Yet it was beautiful, so beautiful it caused a pain so acute. The violinist’s superb skill only served as its sharp edge.

Louis bought a hand to his left chest. A phantom pain, he told himself, but a pain nonetheless. His vision was tinted with red and blurring. Before the first blood tear rolled, he was struck with an appalling realization: this was the same music he had discovered in the old violin case.

He also remembered well Lestat’s rage when he heard the music, and feared tremendously for the young violinist on stage. Such talent. Such beauty. A promising bud to blossom into a splendid flower. How Lestat had loved to nip the bud!

Clenching his hand in a fist, Louis glanced at Lestat. Immediately his fear was overcome by newfound horror: red was streaming down his sculpted cheeks with no restraint, red thick and gleaming and unveiled to any mortal eyes. If anyone were to see him…

His mouth slightly agape, he stared with wide eyes at Louis’s face when the dark-haired vampire stuffed a handkerchief into his palm, and then at streaks of crimson on the back of his hand. Wordlessly he wiped the blood tears off his skin.

The small space was in grave silence when the young musician finished and bowed. Only after he had vanished behind the makeshift curtain did the audience break into wild applaud.

Neither of them spoke a word on their way home that night. As it turned out, this bar was where Lestat disappeared to every other night.

_(Cont)_


	5. Fantôme

Louis didn’t breathe a word about his doubts and uncertainty with his beloved prince, though he was brimmed with questions about the old, seemingly discarded music sheet, Lestat’s unfamiliar rage and the young violinist at the bar. There had to be a thread that connected them, linking them together to an explanation, which Louis dared not ask Lestat for fear of opening an old yet barely healed wound.

Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep his tumultuous thoughts from Armand’s privy mind. Old habits die hard. Damn that little imp. He hoped Armand caught that too.

Armand didn’t dig low, barely scraping the surface. Stirring his curiosity, that was the usual tactic, yet Louis fell to the bait almost every time despite knowing beforehand. But maybe, just maybe this vampire who was as old as his age and Lestat’s combined could shed some light to this mist.

He gave Armand permission to penetrate and gathered his thoughts, reconstructing the bar, the stage, the violinist and his dark, mesmerizing music with his memory. Images took shape in his mind, slightly long curls framing the youthful face, eyes as deep and dark as his music, open yet allowing not anyone or anything to enter their sight. With the violin in his hands, he wasn’t just a young man; he was god, the only god of his private world, where nothing but his own music ruled. How confident he was standing there. How luminous. Louis almost thought he had fallen in love with him.

Almost.

Armand’s mental gasp broke his reverie. The name produced on his tongue shattered whatever left of Louis’s serenity.

 _Nicolas de Lenfent_.

_(Cont)_


	6. Crainte

Louis knew Nicolas de Lenfent, or rather knew him from Lestat’s words. He also knew Nicolas was Lestat’s first and greatest regret.

Cleansed from this earth by fire, now his ghost had come back. A mortal. A violinist!

For what purpose? To seek revenge on his once maker? To ask for immortality one more time? Did he, in this mortal flesh and mind, retain his memory? Did he recall his pains, his madness? Did he remember love?

Louis felt the chill coursing sharply in his veins. He might have known the Nicolas de Lenfent of the past, but this Nicolas, this modern, human Nicolas he knew next to nothing. Such frightened him far more the dread of killing every night.

He didn’t ask Lestat about this ‘Nicki’, he couldn’t. He was afraid by doing so he would destroy the frail emotional coil they were trying to fix after decades of disastrous twists and turns. Moreover, he was afraid that Lestat would make a choice when the time came, and his choice would not be Louis.

What could he do about it except following his lover to the bar, watching him as he watched ‘Nicolas’ enthrall the audience?

How long would it be before Lestat made the choice?

_(Cont)_


	7. Cauchemar

> _Don’t be afraid_
> 
> _There’s nothing out there_
> 
> _Just the wind in the trees_
> 
> _And the bugs and the bears_
> 
> _Don’t be afraid_
> 
> _You’re safe here inside_
> 
> _From the bugs and the bears_
> 
> _And the cold winter night_
> 
> _Don’t be afraid_
> 
> _Just say your prayers_
> 
> _Ask God to bless us_
> 
> _And the bugs and the bears_
> 
> _**The Bugs and the Bears – Lestat The Musical** _

———-***———-

 

There was a sound. Music. Instrument playing. Probably violin. There was a voice. French. Probably a song. Someone singing.

Who?

It was darkness in front of him, pure darkness that even his vampire eyes could not pierce. He extended his arms, hovering, grabbing, trying to catch something, anything which could help him with direction.

Nothing.

He was panicking. Could he, could vampires go blind? Yes, yes they could. If someone, or something, plucked out their eyes. He thought he heard Maharet’s voice, speaking of her terror of being trapped in darkness. He pushed her memory aside. It brought no comfort, only increasing fear. Where was he? Who could have done this to him? How could he escape from this black madness? How could he return? Where was Lestat? Lestat who had gone to sleep with him, cradling him in his strong arms.

He screamed for Lestat, and was struck with horror: he couldn’t hear his own voice!

He sank to his knees. He wept. No tears. No sound. But he was weeping.

Then, there was the sound. Music played by a violin. A distant song sung in faint but clear voice. He didn’t know it; still he strived for it. His only light. His salvation.

> _“Ne t’effraie pas_
> 
> _du calme mon amour_
> 
> _c’est du vent dans les arbres_
> 
> _et les mouches et les ours”_

A nursery rhyme he was hearing and it soothed him, a simple yet magnificent miracle formed by its melody and lyrics gradually easing his fear as he strode towards the source.

> “ _Ne t’effraie pas_
> 
> _t’es si bien chez toi_
> 
> _Loin des mouches et des ours_
> 
> _en ce soir d’hiver froid”_

He wasn’t afraid now; he was calm and filled with hope. The darkness didn’t matter. His blindness didn’t matter. Lestat’s absence didn’t matter. All that did was the song and its singer. He had to find him, but why, he didn’t comprehend – didn’t want to stop to comprehend. He had to reach the singer, or else he would be destroyed, simple as that.

Ah, the violin too. The violin accompanied the voice, blending in perfect harmony as though they were twins.

Somehow the violin struck a familiar note in his hypnotized mind. Had he heard it somewhere? But where?

He was prepared for neither the sudden light nor the sight it presented. Tears pricked acutely at the rims of his eyes.

It was Nicolas de Lenfent. Nicolas dressing in 18th century garment – red frock coat and black satin slippers. Nicolas singing and playing the violin. Nicolas burning in the flame.

The song had stopped.

Nicolas was looking at him. Nicolas was speaking to him.

What? He could not hear. Blood was burning his eyes. Blood was choking his voice.

He woke up soaked as though bathed in blood.

It was still darkness in front of him, but he was no longer blind. He could see the outline of his coffin, the blood on his hands, on his shirt.

He could almost see Nicolas’s blood-stained face.

Nicolas’s final words he had heard. He remembered them now.

_(Cont)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Nicolas sang is the French version of ‘The Bugs and the Bears’


	8. Promets-moi

“I offered him our Gift,” Lestat said one night as he and Louis was wondering through the urban maze searching for prey.

Louis’s heart skipped a beat, a painful beat. So the choice had been made already?

“He remembers?” Louis found himself speaking. Stupid question. Of course he remembered. This was Nicolas de Lenfent’s reincarnation after all.

For seconds Lestat only stared at Louis, as if he hadn’t expected such a query, or rather, such knowledge from Louis. But he didn’t voice his thought, his doubt, just as he hadn’t questioned how Louis had managed to find him.

His reply came with a sigh. “He declined my offer.”

Should Louis feel relieved upon hearing? He probably should, yet he didn’t. Not a little bit. He knew Lestat well enough. Wasn’t David a perfect example?

As if having read his mind, Lestat said, “I will not turn him.” A pause. A stretched silence. Then resignation. “Having him despising me one lifetime is enough.”

He reached for Louis’s hand and squeezed it, seeking sympathy, perhaps consolation, forgiveness.

_Forgiveness for what?_

Louis’s hand could only offer him the rigid cold of hunger.

_Can you keep your promise this time?_

_If I cannot, will you stop me?_

Louis’s hand squeezed back, harder, almost crushing bones.

_(Cont)_


	9. Lâcher

Instead of the retro bar, tonight they were inside another place, a place that was sorely lack of relaxation or enjoyment: a hospital.

It was bustling, this place full of mortal scents and mortal death, when they stepped into the huge building, shining in the night like a bleached white torch. Mortals rushed past them, never lingering for a second to study and notice the pallor of their skin or the iridescence of their eyes. Some mortals in white garments even shouted impatiently at them to make way for a stretcher to pass through. The irony was most ridiculous: under this florescent light that was as harsh as the sun the two immortals could blend in with humans most effortlessly.

The sweet scent of blood was overwhelming and it took every ounce of their self-control to not start a feast right here, right now. They dared not cause a ruckus; they were here for a greater purpose.

Nicolas hadn’t shown up at the bar. Got himself into big trouble, the middle-aged, flabby bar owner told them. A campus shooting – so typical these days. Several killed. Nicolas had tried his best to protect his girlfriend. The heroic dude. Got shot thrice and rushed to the hospital. The poor girl had perished on the way while Nicolas had survived. Survived yes, but on the verge of death.

Lestat had nearly strangled the man for the address of the hospital.

The doctors hurrying in and out of the room didn’t see them, and neither did the restless detectives pacing outside the hallway: two pallid figures standing by the young man’s bed like two Grim Reapers, reticent and ready to cut off his mortal coil.

The monitoring device connecting to Nicolas beeped ominously. The doctors had concluded he would not be able to make it to the morning. The electric line straightened and straightened as his wounded heart weakened and weakened.

Only a miracle could save him now.

Lestat’s mouth opened, flashing his canine. Faster than Louis could have done something to intervene, his pale lips were dyed ruby-red. With Nicolas’s blood still dripping from his chin, he gashed his wrist and brought it to the dying man’s mouth, only to be caught by lean, delicate fingers. Taking advantage of surprise element, Louis wrenched Lestat’s wrist away and pinned him flat on the floor with his own body. The movement caused a loud thud and he briefly hoped Lestat’s spell on the mortals still held.

“Don’t! Lestat, don’t!” he repeated the words like a mantra. No matter how the other vampire thrashed about and kicked at him, Louis refused to let go.

“Don’t!”

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, the force of Lestat’s blows threatening to knock the life out of him. Nevertheless, Louis’s arms were dead vice on his torso.

“I can burn you Louis,” Lestat hissed. “Swear to God I will burn even your ash.”

“Then you will have another to mourn,” Louis whispered.

He couldn’t determine which was louder in his ears, the frantic beating of their hearts or Lestat’s cries. In spite of the pains burning his ribs and abdomen, he squeezed Lestat’s frame with all his might as though meant to crush their flesh and bones altogether. The front of his white shirt was warm and stained beyond help.

“Let him go, Lestat. You have to let him go.”

The electric line was perfectly straight and the beeping sounds of the device halted. At the same time Lestat’s body went utterly limp in his arms.

Much as Louis wanted to just hold Lestat here, on the floor, he simply couldn’t. The siren had gone off to alarm the mortals and very soon they would flood into this room.

He brought Lestat to his feet as the blond was clinging onto him for support. Louis could see his body shaking and the feel of Lestat’s skin on his wasn’t unlike ice.

They didn't glance at the fresh body on the bed before they leapt out of the window.

_(Cont)_


	10. Épilogue

Two gravestones were placed side by side. Freshly made, they stood out amongst thousands others in the cemetery, worn by time.

Silent as the stone statues, two tall figures were in front of the gravestones, wearing midnight outfit. One left the other to step forward and placed a bouquet of white roses and a violin case before the graves.

“Would you like me to leave you and him some privacy?” one figure asked.

A soft chuckle.

“What should I say to a slab of stone?” the other, the chuckling one, replied. “Your capacity for silly romance never ceases to amaze me.”

A low mumble. “Right…”

The lid of the violin case was opened, revealing the lacquered luster of a violin. Sound of snapping fingers. Coming out of nowhere, the fire engulfed and devoured the case. Ash was soon what was left of the elegant instrument.

A gush of wind swallowed the ash, scattering it.

Looking up at the starlit sky, one figure said, “I could have done the same to you.”

“Indeed you can. I have no doubt.”

“But then I remember I created you to be my conscience, to be strong and resolute when I’m weak and tempted. I created you to fight the selfish evils in me.”

A small curve of lips, to faint to witness in the dim moonlight. The other saw it anyway, and reciprocated with his more visible smile.

“Let us go,” one said, taking the other’s hand. “I’d like to get them before the mortals do.”

“As you wish, Prince,” came the other’s reply.

_End_


End file.
